Figuratively Speaking
by JunoLuv
Summary: One Shot. Carly and Freddie are dating, and it's ripping our favorite meat-lover, Sam Puckett, apart. The much darker side of unrequited love.


**One-Shot/Drabble thing. **

**Written after an extremely trying English final. lol. Thank you Mr. Crick for inspiring me. XD**

**By the way, this is pretty dark. Just like everything I write. Just a warning to people who like happy endings, because you ain't finding it here :(  
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**Figuratively Speaking**

There they were again. Holding hands and staring at each other like complete idiots… idiots that just happened to be in love. _God_, just thinking about it makes me sick. Every day I have to deal with this sight, this pain. It's like they specifically chose the row of lockers right outside my fifth period art class to do their pre-lunch make out session. As soon as I see their faces inching closer and closer, I quicken my pace to a run. It hurts too much if I see much more than that simple gesture. When I make it to my locker, safely a corner away from them, I let my guard down for just a second. As I throw my sketchpad into my locker, I allow my eyes to water in an attempt at crying. I never let it get past that. Crying isn't my thing, especially if it's over something as dumb as this. Once my locker door slams shut, the moment of weakness evaporates into thin air as if it never existed. I wipe at the unshed tears with my jacket sleeve. The painful façade of jubilance for the happy couple is carefully draped over my intense jealously immediately.

No one can know it hurts. Freddie and Carly being together isn't something Sam Puckett is supposed to give a rats hat about.

I see two flashes of brown hair round the corner, and realize it's time to make my front of happiness more apparent. It seems I'm using my happy-mask more and more these days…

"Hey, Sam!" Carly greets, pecking Freddie on his cheek.

I flinch as he wraps his arms around her perfect frame, "Sup, Carly? _Dork_."

"Be nice to him, Sam." Carly ordered.

I grimaced at the way they kept gazing at one another. This crap is only supposed to happen in dumb romantic comedies, or teen chick flicks. I have my own version of Twilight developing in front of me. I guess I'm Jacob in our situation, though I haven't read enough of the books to understand the ins and outs of that love triangle.

We aren't in a love triangle, though. More like a love line, with a helpless dot leaning towards one side. I'm the dot.

"Whatever." My voice was a low mumble of incoherence.

Freddie tightened his grasp around the love of his life, "So, are you going to eat lunch with us?"

He's been so much more touchy-feely with her ever since he got all his casts off. The strain on my heart only grew the day he showed up at Carly's apartment, sporting his new and improved body. I knew the PDA would escalate to an unreachable point with his arms and legs having full motion. It was a point I never wanted to experience, yet I still did. Every damned day.

My eyes darted from each of their faces, remembering I'd been asked a question, "Naw, I gotta go see Principal Franklin."

Freddie smirked, "Did you teepee another bathroom? Or did you flood it this time?"

"Shut up, Benson." I glared at him, the stabbing pain was building up in my chest again, "I'm gonna go."

"Wait, Sam! You're coming by the apartment after school to rehearse iCarly stuff, right?" Carly called out.

I shrugged and muttered quickly, "I don't know if I could handle it."

Before she could reply, I ran off in the other direction, headed straight for the front doors of school. I needed to get out of here, and as far away from them as possible. If I stay any longer, they might find out. My outer wall has been slowly tearing down as the days of their relationship have slowly gone by.

**97 days**.

Yeah, I counted. Sue me.

It's been that long. They've been together **that** **long**. I've been holding myself together by the tips of my fingers for **that** **long**. It feels like it's been longer than that. The emotional and physical turmoil their relationship has taken on me will never be measurable. It's an inconclusive search for answers. Why does it hurt me so much? I still don't know. I didn't even know I had feelings until…

The images flashed through my brain like a movie reel on repeat. It's been on repeat for way too long…

**Taco truck. **

**Carly. **

**Freddie. **

**Pavement.**

**Ambulance. **

**Taco.**

**Pizza.**

**Spencer.**

A deeper frown appeared on my face. I hadn't noticed that food had actually played a part in what was arguably the worst day of my life. Maybe that's why I don't eat like I used to. The pounds have been slowly melting off my already small frame all these 97 days. The pain in my gut isn't easily placed though. It could be my hunger for food, or my hunger for affection. Either way, it hurts. **So much**.

When I felt the cold air of the outdoors hit my face, I sighed in content. Even though I had another block to walk until I was in my safe haven, just being out here felt better than being in there. Being in _there_ meant getting suffocated by flirtatious looks, along with loving contacts of skin. Like they can't do that crap when they're at home…

Only, they do. Carly's apartment didn't retain its' title of my home very long after the relationship began. He's always there, and she's always all over him. That's not home. That's _Hell_. My hollow house and mother with one foot in the grave is more homely than that place now, though I'll never call it home. It _kills_ me every time I step inside Carly's door, and the two of them are on the couch, just laughing together about something stupid.

**Laughing**. _I_ used to do that. _**We**_ used to do that… **Together**.

The alleyway I'd become so accustomed to was in my grasp now. I could already smell its' sewage-filled atmosphere. The tingling I always got in my fingers whenever I smelled that smell came back. That's my home these days.

There were trashcans and litter scattered around the small pavement circle that sat in the center of a few buildings at the end of the alley, but I didn't care about that. I cared about the wedge between a couple of large garbage cans. The wedge that was just large enough for a sixteen year-old girl to fit comfortably.

I pulled out my father's weathered Zippo lighter, setting it on the pavement between my legs. He loved that thing when he was around, and it was all he left when he ditched me and my mother for a younger woman and much better prospects in L.A. As many bad memories as the object brought me, I kept it. Changing flints and wicks on it to keep it working annoyed me at times, but as a child I somehow knew I'd need it one day.

Today, I need it.

Holding it with my middle and index finger on top and my thumb on the bottom, I snapped my fingers. The top opened, and I immediately flipped the switch with my index finger to light the flame. When the small orange flame began dancing in front of my eyes, I felt my anticipation grown. I was ready to forget, if just for a moment, about what lay just inside the school doors.

I wasn't typical in my self-destructive ways. Most girls in my situation, with my resources, would smoke their way out of it. Lighting up a joint or even a Marlboro would be easier, and a lot less painful than my personal choice of relief.

Some girls use razors and cut their way through the bad times, but that's weak in my opinion. Why cut when there are so many more painful ways of dealing? I'm not weak.

My hands began acting on their own, as the always did when I sat here. I'm not Sam Puckett here, I'm Samantha. Samantha is scared and hurt and broken. I can't be Samantha for too long. People wouldn't like Samantha. I **hate** Samantha.

I pulled a metal piece from under the dumpster that always remained here, holding it in the flame that burned eternally on my dad's Zippo. My patience surprised me as I waited for it to get hot, usually I'd be so eager, I'd take it off before it peaked in heat. Once it seemed hot enough, I flipped the Zippo shut and systematically pulled the sleeve of my dark blue jacket up.

My hand lingered above my porcelain skin, my eyes tracing the many discolorations from burns and bruises. But, just like always, my stupid addiction to pain took over, and I was soon seething in burning agony as the white hot metal pushed into my skin. I always held it there for at least thirty seconds before pulling the object away.

My entire arm, from wrist to shoulder, was in shock at the amount of heat being pressed into one spot. Tears formed in my eyes at the immense pain, but it didn't stop me from flipping the Zippo open again and heating up my metal wire a second time. The second time was never as fulfilling as the first, because my skin would be prepared for the agony that was to come. But I released a long breath of pleasure nonetheless at the burning sensation taking over my arm once again. It hurt, and that's all I needed.

I don't understand why I do this. It's not a choice I made, I swear. After Carly and Freddie began dating, I accidentally got burned fixing dinner for my mother, and found the physical pain relieving to the internal turmoil I'd been dealt over those first few weeks. Afterward, it just became my coping mechanism. I don't know how to express anything any other way. The negligence of my parents trained me into believing emotions were a useless part of the human condition. Being sad would never bring dad back, or make my mother suddenly care about my well-being. Sadness is something I've avoided for years. But the Freddie/Carly thing ripped the damned emotion out of me like fire rips through a building. Burning down all of the outer walls until there is nothing left; nothing but a hollow shell of what used to be.

Emotions are just too complicated for me to comprehend. Pain is simple. And that is why I'm here right now.

My head felt light, and the small amount of adrenaline I received from the burns in my forearm began to take shape. It's an unexplainable feeling. My arm is in killer pain, but my heart… my heart isn't being ripped to pieces like it normally is. It will only last for a few minutes, maybe just a few seconds, but a momentary lapse in my internal struggle with love is desperately desired by yours truly. Even if it comes at a price.

There are scars scattered on both of my forearms. More can easily be spotted on my legs and stomach, even my shoulders. I didn't burn my wrists though. That's one place I refused to do my self-destructive deeds. People look there, sleeves ride up on my bony arms, and I won't risk my secret getting out because of stupidity. I've seen movies and TV shows. The protagonist with a problem is always found out after some type of idiotic mistake.

"Sam?" A shaky female voice echoed from the world I'd been doing well at escaping.

Great job, Sam. Here's your idiotic mistake. Not taking into account that someone _might_ follow **you** here, to **your** place.

My head habitually tilted back against the brick wall of the building I was leaning against. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it.

It… **them** is more like it. I saw _them_. Them and their stupid hand-holding. **Them**. They just had to be the ones to found me at my weakest. It couldn't have been Gibby, or Principal Franklin. It's gotta be **them**.

"Huh?" My voice was a low croak as I looked up at them with an emotionless expression.

The dork shook his head and looked at Carly, "I told you."

She shook her head and looked down at me in remorse, "This is what you do?"

"What I do…" I whispered, staring off into space as the couple shared a look.

Fredward groaned, "You're so pathetic."

"Freddie," Carly sighed, "Don't say that."

"She is," His voice cracked, "Look at her, Carls."

Carls. I called her Carls. It's been a long time since Carls has been a part of my vocabulary.

"I see her," Carly sighed, looking down at me, "Sam… why?"

My eyes darted from Carly's face, and instead I glared at the cold pavement on which I sat. I didn't know why I did this. I mean, I knew why, but I didn't know _why_… you know?

You don't know. What am I saying? Nothing I say makes sense anymore. Nothing has made sense in 97 days, and I'm getting sick and tired of it. Senselessness can only be tolerated by a girl for so long.

"I don't…" I breathe, shaking my head and pulling my sleeves back down.

Carly looked from me, and then up to Fredweird. She wants to say something else to me. I see it in her eyes. That's what I've always admired about Carly Shay, the passion she holds in her eyes. I'm jealous of it all the same, though. My eyes hold nothing but barren and desolate dreams that have been systematically shattered throughout a lifetime.

The only dream I still had, was for Carly to speak up again… for Carly to be _my_ best friend, and **not** Fredward's girlfriend.

But **Freddie** is here. He was giving Carly a, she's-just-doing-it-for-attention-lets-make out-later, look. I sighed, giving up on my best friend completely when I saw the flicker of hope in her eyes die and fade away completely.

"I… I'm sorry…" Carly choked out, looking from Freddie to my crumpled state on the ground, "We'll talk about… _this_… later. Okay, Sam?"

My gaze made its' way to her pained face, "I know."

We won't discuss this ever again, that's what 'I know'. Carly wouldn't handle a conversation like that. And if Freddie was there, their constant touching would be like sitting in a torture chamber for hours on end. I couldn't do it.

"Bye," Freddie stated, leading his 'girl' away from me.

My heart was chipped at again at the way he'd basically given me the cold shoulder. Freddie was different before Carly. Before Carly, he probably would have stayed with me. But, he's fulfilling the 'man' role for her now, and the man can't be another girls' free of charge therapist. It doesn't work that way.

The alley suddenly felt colder and lonelier as they slowly made their way outside into daylight again. When I saw their figures finally disappear from view, I only sighed and flipped open my lighter once more. The flame flickered in front of my eyes menacingly, causing chills to run down my spine.

Another burn won't hurt, figuratively speaking.

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**Wow... that was just... weird... and dark. Lol. I don't even know where this 'thing' came from. I was trying to write a one-sided Seddie thing, but then I wanted to write Cam... and my indecisiveness created this. Lol. The self-injury/burning just got thrown in there out of my sick and twisted mind because cutting has been done on here way too many times with Sam. Even I've done it once in a story. Lol. Please no _flames _about that aspect of the thing. Pun intended.  
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**You guys can decide for yourselves who Sam was in love with out of Carly and Freddie. I tried to keep her opinions of each pretty balanced out between love and dislike. This was all done on purpose of course, because I couldn't decide who Sam should love. lol.  
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**Man, my authors note is way too chipper for a story so dark and twisted. Lol. I'm just this kind of person I guess. Maybe I'll be a psycho killer?  
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**Review? Maybe? Pleez? :D**

**Not beggin', just askin'!**


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